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by incredulousanteater



Series: Familiar [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: AU, Angst, Aziraphale’s Bookshop, Beelzebub (mentioned), Bingo Fill, Book Collecting, Books, Crowley’s Plants - Freeform, Cuddly Crowley, Familiar Beelzebub, Familiar Crowley, Familiar and Witch AU, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gabriel - Freeform, Gen, Human Aziraphale, M/M, Magic, Nicknames, Or discussions of it, Rituals, Snake Crowley, Soulmate Bond, Staying up late to read, Tired Aziraphale, Witch Aziraphale, Witch Gabriel, a teeny tiny dash of, or all night, reptile care, request, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-27 23:26:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19799947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incredulousanteater/pseuds/incredulousanteater
Summary: “Oh—Oh, Gabriel. Hello,” Aziraphale greeted him. “It’s ni—”“And you got yourself a familiar!” Gabriel’s gaze had lit upon Crowley, mostly hidden under the jacket. “I never doubted you had the gift,” he continued, bending his knees so he was eye-level with the snake who tightened his coils around Aziraphale’s shoulders in discomfort at the close examination. “Shy?” Gabriel asked, craning his neck to look back up at Aziraphale.Crowley decided then that he did not like Gabriel.





	Home

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I’m back with more! This was requested and fills my Ineffable Husbands bingo square, “Aziraphale’s Bookshop”!

Crowley liked to think he’d made it clear he didn’t fancy mice from the very beginning, but here they were, discussing just that. It had started when Aziraphale asked him what size terrarium he’d like. 

“I don’t want a… _terrarium_ at all,” Crowley had said, hoping that Aziraphale would announce it was all a joke. 

He didn’t, and it wasn’t. 

“Well, it’s just that I’ve been researching reptile care—”

“ _Reptile care_ ,” Crowley repeated incredulously, but Aziraphale either didn’t hear him or ignored him, and continued on.

“And you need a heat lamp at the very least! I thought we could skip the mice, though, because I know you—”

Crowley made a noise that was akin to choking. 

“We don’t have to, though,” Aziraphale said hurriedly, taking in the familiar’s expression. “I could add them to the grocery list.” 

“I don’t want mice either, Aziraphale,” Crowley managed to say. Aziraphale looked extremely relieved by that. 

“I thought so…” 

“Glad we cleared that up,” Crowley replied, turning away to find a reprieve from the awkward tension in the air. 

“Erm…one more thing.” Aziraphale looked uncomfortable yet again. 

“Whatever it is, please refrain from telling me,” Crowley groaned. 

“I also noticed that you should’ve had a shed by now, my dear boy, according to—”

“ _Aziraphale_!” 

The witch gave a little start, and Crowley almost felt bad. Almost. “Right,” he said, cheeks reddening, and the conversation was dropped. 

—

Awkward conversations aside, things were going well. Much to Aziraphale’s vexation, business was improving in the bookshop, even with Crowley’s help in scaring away would-be buyers. Crowley was growing more used to his new life, and Aziraphale was improving in his magical abilities quickly. Which meant he wanted to see exactly what he could do. 

“I don’t know about this,” Crowley admitted, shifting on his feet as he observed Aziraphale set one of his orchids carefully on the table in front of him. 

“All we’re trying to do is give it a little growth boost,” Aziraphale said, rereading the passage he had open in one of his ancient books before moving back to Crowley’s side. 

“Slacker doesn’t need a free growth boost. And I was talking about this,” Crowley complained, gesturing at Aziraphale, who held his hands out for Crowley. 

“Merging our magic?” 

“Whatever you’d like to call it,” Crowley replied, gaze flickering to the floor uncertainly for a moment. “It’s more of an advanced practice.” 

“I’ve been improving,” Aziraphale reminded him. 

“As your familiar, guardian, soulmate, unpaid bookshop employee, etcetera, I’d noticed,” Crowley answered dryly. “This isn’t quite the same as magicking up a cup of tea, angel.” 

Aziraphale offered a soft smile, blue eyes imploring. “No, it isn’t.” 

“Let’s get it over with.” Crowley gave up and accepted the witch’s outstretched hands. “I can tell you’re not going to let this go.” 

He squeezed his eyes shut and envisioned on the bond between them. Crowley had never actually done a merge before. It required a familiar and their witch, so of course he hadn’t. Merges revolved around magic energy, which was just that—energy. It ran out when you overdid anything, and only time could replenish it. That, or it could be taken from your familiar, and the other way around. 

Aziraphale wasn’t empty of energy at the moment, obviously. Merging was also often used to perform more complex spells. Which, helping a plant grow wasn’t, not exactly. But neither of them was ready for a complex spell such as object transformation, so the plant would do nicely as a beginning practice. 

Crowley took a deep breath and let himself sink into the bond, slowly, like wading into deep water. Aziraphale would be doing the same from his side, if he wanted this to work properly. The witch’s eager anticipation shone across the surface in little wavelets, and Crowley tried push away his own trepidation as he moved deeper. Aziraphale’s emotions changed slightly, little twinges of worry, minnows flitting through the shallows. Deeper still, and flashes of light blurred beneath the fathomless dark. Crowley opened himself as he went, imagining his magic energy and drawing it away from himself. He pictured himself offering it out for Aziraphale to take. 

The responding tug was unexpected, but Crowley refrained from pulling away. He continued, all too aware of how exposed he was as the waters closed over his head. Something was there. Blinding images, too fast to process completely. Gold and black. Smoke and leaping flames. Ink bleeding across yellowed pages. Scales rasping over worn fabric. Underneath it was an uncomfortable sensation, swelling, something lurking unseen in the depths—Crowley felt back to his _real_ body, felt himself twitch—and the _something_ reached for him, for the vulnerable parts left wide-open, and it was too much. 

He was back in the bookshop suddenly, thrust back to dim lighting and the musty smell of old paper. Crowley wrenched away from Aziraphale with a gasp, stumbled backwards and caught himself on the edge of a bookshelf. His heart hammered in his ears, drowning out the witch’s concerned exclamations. 

“I can’t—” he stopped himself, forced his breathing to steady. “We couldn’t have got it on the first try, anyways,” Crowley said, glancing at the orchid that sat unchanged on the table. It mocked him silently as he plastered a calm expression on his face. The bond would betray him as always, but he did it because he was Crowley, and because maybe Aziraphale would leave it at that.

And he did, even if it looked as if was killing him not to say anything. 

—

“I won’t skip a meeting _I_ set up,” Aziraphale sighed.

“Then go by yourself. I won’t stop you,” Crowley groused, slouching towards the windowsill and peering out. The day was grey and overcast, as they were wont to be in December, reflecting his mood. It had been a month since the attempted merge. Aziraphale hadn’t mentioned it, which, on the one hand, was a massive relief, but on the other, it was _worse._ Worse in that Crowley couldn’t even merge with Aziraphale, his witch, the being he was _made_ to connect with, and now he had him tiptoeing about the subject as well. 

Crowley studied the melted snow that mixed into slushy mud where it collected in the gutters and shuddered. He purposely avoided Aziraphale’s pleading gaze as he turned away to move one of the sad-looking potted plants into the weak light. They weren’t too pleased with the current weather. “And it’s just for a book.” 

However horrified Aziraphale must’ve been by that last statement, he kept it to himself. “Well, there’s also that new café—” 

“Food here,” Crowley said. 

“You can’t be afraid of a little cold.” 

“I’m not afraid,” Crowley protested. “Although, I _am_ cold-blooded. And my shoes would be ruined by _that_ ,” he curled his lip as he looked back out the window, at the wet clumps of ice. 

“Oh, just sit on my shoulders and change when we get there like last time, then.” Aziraphale beamed at him. “It would make me very happy, Crowley, dear.” 

He found himself unable to refuse the witch. “That’s cheating,” he said as he relented, skin shifting into scales. 

“I haven’t a clue of what you could mean by that,” Aziraphale replied innocently, slipping a thick coat on and leaning down to retrieve him. Crowley slithered up his arm in sullen silence and burrowed into the confines of the space between the jacket and Aziraphale’s shoulders. 

“I was right to leave it, wasn’t I?” Aziraphale asked him for the third time, staring into the dregs of his cocoa despondently. 

“Of course, angel. You’re acting like you left a kicked puppy behind in a ditch, not a book,” Crowley supplied helpfully, and leaned back in his chair. People bustled past the quiet café, going about their everyday business and ignoring the general misery of the day somehow. “The price they asked was too high. If you’d let me give them a little _nudge_ in the right direction—”

Aziraphale shushed him hastily. “That’s a _crime_ , Crowley.”

“Is it?” Crowley tilted his head and grinned at him.

“Yes. _Influencing_ others—using _magic_ on them is strictly—”

Crowley gave a soft snort and shook his head as the point sailed straight over the witch’s head. “I know this world’s stupid laws well enough by now. Done well—and I do it well—that sort of influence is easy to overlook. Nobody would’ve ever been the wiser.” 

“It’s _wrong_ ,” Aziraphale said, and stood, counting out a generous tip. He dropped it on the table as he continued, “Even if there weren’t consequences, I wouldn’t want that.” 

“If you’re sure.” The sibilance in Crowley’s voice grew more pronounced as he shrank back into the form of a serpent. No one spared them a second glance as Aziraphale gathered the familiar into his arms. 

“Of course I’m sure.” Crowley heard Aziraphale mutter, and peeked his head out of the jacket, hoping that his unblinking eyes conveyed what he was thinking. _You’re the one out a book, angel, not me._

It came as a surprise when someone clapped Aziraphale on the shoulder, narrowly missing Crowley in the process. Shock echoed through the bond on both ends. 

“I knew that was you, Aziraphale!” The stranger maneuvered around a woman walking past and came to stand in front of them. 

“Oh—Oh, Gabriel. Hello,” Aziraphale greeted him. “It’s ni—”

“And you got yourself a familiar!” Gabriel’s gaze had lit upon Crowley, mostly hidden under the jacket. “I never doubted you had the gift,” he continued, bending his knees so he was eye-level with the snake who tightened his coils around Aziraphale’s shoulders in discomfort at the close examination. Once he realized he was doing it, he stopped, eyeing Gabriel warily. Clearly he and Aziraphale knew each other. 

“Shy?” Gabriel asked, craning his neck to look back up at Aziraphale. Crowley decided then that he did not like Gabriel.

Through the bond, Crowley could tell that the witch was feeling somewhat overwhelmed. It still didn’t excuse his answer. “Oh, Crowley’s just feeling a bit…disagreeable, today, what with the cold weather, you know.”

His indignant hiss was swallowed by the sound of a car rushing by. Gabriel finally straightened with a knowing nod, to everyone’s relief, and, to everyone’s equal disappointment, attempted small talk. 

“So, what brings you here today? How’s the bookshop?” 

“Doing wonderfully, thank you. I’m afraid I’m just heading back, actually. Had a meeting,” Aziraphale answered, smoothing the sleeves of his coat anxiously. 

“Of course!” A look of realization crossed Gabriel’s face, and he buried his face in the palm of one hand. “You’re the buyer, aren’t you? Well, I can rest assured it’s found a good home, then.” 

“Er…I passed up the offer,” Aziraphale confessed and wrung his hands wretchedly. “Too costly.” 

“Oh. That’s a shame.” Gabriel’s face had fallen. “Zee can be hard to bargain with,” he said, and Crowley was reminded of the bored familiar who’d tried to sell them the overpriced book. “I’ll talk with him for you.” Aziraphale must have had a confused expression, because Gabriel reiterated, “Beelzebub. My business partner—the lovely familiar you met with. You know, really, just consider the book yours.” 

“That’s not necessary—” Aziraphale was cut off quickly yet again. 

“It’s nothing. A favor for an old friend. In fact, you can expect it delivered to your shop in the morning.” 

—

Gabriel was true to his word, and the book arrived early the next morning, free of cost. To Crowley’s astonishment, Aziraphale left the shop open. Less to his astonishment, he also asked Crowley to keep an eye on things before burying himself eagerly in the ancient tome. 

Luckily, it was a slow day. Most of them were, but this one in particular had to be a record, probably in part thanks to the freezing downpour outside. Crowley only had to dissuade one potential customer from buying anything. Every time she asked a question, he shrugged unhelpfully, to her visibly increasing annoyance, but despite his unhelpful service, she still managed to find a book she wanted. 

Unfortunately for her, she also wanted to use a credit card to pay for it. “Sorry, we don’t take those, didn’t you read the sign? Cash only. Sorry about that.” He wasn’t. She’d given up in a huff, unfolding her umbrella and gathering her scarf around her face as a brace against the cold before she left. 

By closing time, hours later, Aziraphale was still consumed in his newest acquisition, and Crowley was bored out of his mind. There was only so much half-hearted chastising of his plants and gazing out of rain-streaked windowpanes gloomily he could do before it got old. He sulked around the shop, and his spirits, already soured by the weather and lack of something to do, soured further as contentment that wasn’t his washed over him. 

He even tried reading a book, optimistic that it would be somehow different from all the other times he’d opened a book. It wasn’t. After half an hour of squinting at brittle pages, he had a headache in addition to everything else. As if on cue, the rain, previously unable to make its mind up between sprinkling or full-on buckets, chose the latter. It beat against the roof loudly in time with the throbbing behind his eyes. The heater started up again with a tired rumble and a blast of warm air.  
Crowley surrendered with a long-suffering sigh and joined Aziraphale. The witch didn’t appear weary in the slightest. He didn’t look up when Crowley entered the room, but he lifted one arm up in a welcoming gesture. Grumbling quietly, Crowley made himself comfortable on the couch and curled close to Aziraphale, his own personal heater and pillow. He closed his eyes, thankful for eyelids and the slight respite from the pounding in his head the darkness offered. 

“Would you like something for a headache, dear?” Aziraphale’s voice was blessedly soft, cracking a little from lack of use. 

“M’fine,” Crowley declined muzzily. He gave one last wriggle to find a position that was comfortable. He didn’t have time to reflect on how at home he’d come to be here, in the used bookshop that he and Aziraphale now shared, before sleep gripped him tightly, dragging him into a hazy abyss tinged with the smoky-sweet smell of old books and his witch.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Comments and kudos very welcome if you did! 
> 
> Here’s a link to my [tumblr](https://incredulousanteater.tumblr.com/)!


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